divided: an expat's two homes

self-portrait, in progress

Being an American living abroad usually means that every so often, we head back to the "mother county" and pay a visit. I'm due for mine next week. Every trip back gets harder and harder - harder to say goodbye to my life here in Florence, harder to re-adjust to American culture, harder to fit back into a routine that hasn't changed much in my 24 years...it's just hard. 

After two years in Italy, I feel myself a woman divided, neither Italian nor completely American, living in a kind of limbo state. Don't get me wrong, I feel like my home is Italy and this is where I belong. But ever since my love affair with Italy began, about four years ago, I feel like wherever I go a part of me is missing. 

It's no surprise that my only close friends over here are expats themselves - it's obvious, we can relate to each other. We share the frustrations of having to spend 45 minutes in line at the post office, just to send one letter. We can snicker together at the irony of Florentine women, who on the outside look polished in their Ray-bans, high heeled Hogans and Gucci purses but as soon as they open their mouths sound like country bumpkins, cafoni. We hate how Italians will talk and talk and talk and talk about change, and then give up, lascia stare!, and go have an aperitivo. These friends of mine are from Maine, New York, Nantes and Lyon, but they are my Italian family in this mixed up world of "expatriatism"...yes, I just invented a word.

self-portrait, in progress

But I'm beginning to realize that even if I feel divided between two countries, those two countries are my homes. Two homes! I'm lucky really, with two families to love, two sets of friends to visit, two cultures to explore and enjoy, two parts of myself to cultivate. I always wanted to be a "global citizen" and I feel like I can finally call myself one. 

In the end, my home is where I make it. For now, I'll just have to lighten up and consider how fortunate I am to be a woman divided.

"I leave you my portrait so that you will have my presence all the days and nights that I am away from you."                  - Frida Kahlo

come on back

Consumed by children, summer camp, a new kitten, a new project, a new painting, The Blue Room has been abandoned for a month! But it's okay...there are pictures to sum it all up.

Sir Winston doing his homework

Sushi dinner in Via dei Cairoli

Mini-Matisse and her mamma

to the fates, of summer

Toes at Riotorto, Toscana

You know it's the start of summer in Florence when the air is so thick with jasmine that you feel drunk, giddily perfumed by the little white flowers. The days are hot and sunny, the nights are crisp and you grab a scarf for the bike ride home. Scarlet cherries, duroni, suddenly appear on the stands of fruttivendoli, and by Friday night most Florentines have evacuated our city, taking to their mountain retreats in the Maremma or to the sea in Cecina.

It's best to start the summer with a poem, I think - a prayer for a season of creativity and new experiences.
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To the Fates

Grant me a single summer, you lords of all, 
A single autumn, for the fullgrown song, 
So that, with such sweet playing sated, 
Then my heart may die more willing.


The soul, in life robbed of its godly right, 
Rests not, even in Orcus down below; 
Yet should I once achieve my heart's
First holy concern, the poem,


Welcome then, O stillness of the shadow world!
Even if down I go without my
Music, I shall be satisfied; once
Like gods I shall have lived, more I need not.



- Friedrich Hölderlin (trans. Christopher Middleton)

site-specificity

Theater is a verb before it is a noun, an act before it is a place.  - Martha Graham

i bring warmth a site-specific dance performance by Sharon Estacio with Lauren MacLaughlin at Palazzo Pitti, Firenze - photo by Alberto Galligani

i bring warmth, Sharon Estacio and myself - photo by A. Galligani

trees in the forest

Among the trees, Monte Asinaio, Toscana

Two years ago from yesterday, I graduated from college. I'm known to be a sentimental sort of person who appreciates anniversaries, relishes in looking back on the past while reflecting on progress made. Nowadays, when universities are more expensive than ever and finding a job in your specific field of study is a job in and of itself, I think many college graduates are prone to take a look at their degree and think: did I do the right thing? Was it worth it? Everyone said, "Get an education and you'll get a good job" - where are those people when I'm up to my eyes in student loan debt and still living with my parents. Etc. etc. etc.
For me, the fleeting thought that passes through my mind is: "Am I wasting my education?"
I defiantly answer myself: "No! How dare you think that!" Four years at Pitt have taught me that post-grad life isn't so black and white.

For me, a college education isn't just a degree and the hope for decent employment or a decent paycheck, it's an experience that teaches who you are and who you want to be (dear reader, sorry for sounding so trite). I think that today, it might be hard for students to see the practical benefits of a college education - those promised jobs, promises for a stable future, a house, a family (the American dream, right?) have all but been dashed to the winds. Call me naive, but what if that's okay? What if we continue school just because we want to know ourselves better? Because we want to learn, to understand the world and relate to it? Is that so bad?! What if we say, "Fuck practical - I'm doing this for myself without ulterior motives for becoming Joe-College-Grad with his white collar job, SUV, wife and kids in suburbia heaven."

I think it's important, more than ever, for the class of 2012 to look forward to all the non-practical benefits of four more years in school: independence, abandoning your comfort zone, learning new things for the sheer joy of it, questioning others and yourself, demanding the truth, ending blind acceptance, making a contribution to the world, living! Living!

One of my favorite professors at Pitt once told me that "You have to see the forest for its trees." Whenever I feel consumed by details, all the small stuff, or like Dante in the selva oscura, "dark wood", I think of his words. So high school grads, college grads, take this advice and don't despair: you aren't wasting your education, you haven't wasted it and you won't, just as long as you see the forest for its trees.

i bring warmth

Click HERE for video

i bring warmth: a site-specific project


Two American expats revisit threads of Polynesian dance (learned in Pennsylvania) as a means of grafting themselves to their Mediterranean abode


Direction: Sharon Estacio
Creation and Performance: Sharon Estacio, Lauren MacLaughlin


Underpass at Piazza delle Cure
By the Arno, under Ponte alla Carraia
In front of Palazzo Pitti
(Firenze, Italia)


details to follow shortly:
http://sharonestacio.com/

impressions

Olive picking, Mugello

I've been living in Florence for almost two years now, but my love affair with this city goes back to fall 2008, when I was a student here. Sometimes I feel like the city throws me into sensory overload, and I wish I had my camera or videocamera to capture my experiences, just so I could take them home, go over them and process. I thought it might be fun to put some of these impressions into words...

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Golden sunlight streams through olive leaves. Oxtoa clambers up the limbs like a cat, or better, his cat, Gaston (aka. Mini-Cat).  Our harvest leaves a deep purple trail. White nets are like ghosts. Wine is dark, like our olives.

7am, summer in Via dei Cairoli, windows open and the smell of fresh bread, croissants - yeasty and thick - waft through the screens. Good morning!

Francesca, a Thursday morning wedding

Near the Campo di Marte train station, there is a run-down villa, the color of dirty parchment. The walls are dripping, oozing purple wisteria from top to bottom.

The children in the elementary school behind our house sing and dance to Shakira. The headmistress, a stern old nun, interrupts them for a "pensierino alla Madonna" - "a little prayer for the Madonna"...I guess she means the Virgin Mary, not the pop star.

A stylish gentleman, Saturday afternoon, exits from the Four Seasons wearing beautiful, bright red, leather shoes. He has horn-rimmed glasses.

Antique shop, Arezzo

Tuesday: walking through the market at the Cascine, along the river. Sicilian cheesemongers shove samples in your face. The street smells like fried dough and salami. A baby in a stroller is wearing sunglasses and laughs as his mother tries on yellow high heels. The plant stand is being stormed by Florentine grandmothers; they complain about prices but praise the selection.

The color of black sesame gelato? Light grey. The taste? Sweet and peanut-y. Who knew!

Fields of sunflowers, on our way to the beach. They look to the sky, waiting.

Sara pulls out a giant cheese ziggurat. It's goat cheese. It's beautiful, creamy, white and tastes like heaven. Her friend tells us, "There's a farm in Tuscany where you can adopt a goat." We jump into the ocean.

My bicycle creaks, squeaks, creaks, squeaks down the street on my return from work. White, fuzzy flowers rain down from the trees on the viale.  Just in time to see the hot pink and orange sun set over the soccer stadium.